


the pen is mightier than...

by ballonlea



Category: DREAM!ing (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballonlea/pseuds/ballonlea
Summary: Twenty-six days until Yuma's deadline.Twenty-six days until Yuma's deadline, and nothing was done except for a sketch he'd been revisiting from a high school. Some comic relief character he'd created named Yanagi, with pink hair and a penchant for flirting with every girl he laid eyes on.Twenty-six days until Yuma's deadline, and somehow, Yanagi was standing right in front of him.
Relationships: Hanabusa Yanagi/Mochizuki Yuuma
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. the seashell

**Author's Note:**

> hi, everynyan!!! i've been working on this fic off and on since april 2019, and i'm so excited to finally share it!!! i hope you enjoy!!!!

**—26 Days Left**

This town slept.

In the morning, she slept. Throughout the night, she slept. She rose briefly every afternoon, right when the children were getting out of school and the locals were making their ways through the streets, but fell asleep once more as soon as the pink anesthetic began to fill the sky.

Yuma, however, seemed to _never_ sleep.

Drawing manga was a difficult, time-consuming job, even in a drowsy, idyllic town such as the one he found himself in. While everyone managed their own pace around these parts, Yuma matched the pace of the shining city hundreds of kilometers away. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself cramped into a tiny cubicle in the corner of the largest manga studio on Earth.

He _always_ opened his eyes at his own workspace, papers a new tablecloth and cans of energy drinks a clunky rug. No matter how hard he tried to whisk himself away, the reality of the clock always sent him into a flurry of sketching and inking and writing and drafting and sketching and inking and starting over and sketching and erasing and sketching and inking and—

Sometimes he wasn’t at the little low table in his bedroom. In high school, Yuma would occasionally be on the train, in between classes, in his club meetings, or under his desk. Nowadays, though, he’d be somewhere outside if he wasn’t at his desk. Because Mari always wanted to play down by the water after school. And when it wasn’t because of her, he’d go sit under the biggest (and only) tree in the field down the road from his house for a little while.

 _That_ spot was truly the best. It was the only place Yuma could close his eyes, clear his mind and feel the breeze on his face, hear the grass rustle, catch the scent of the sea with each breath he took, and open them up again feeling completely refreshed. Even though he couldn’t spread out his papers like he was wont to do at home, he often ended up being much more productive under that tree. Maybe it was something in the air.

The town was halfway through her mid-morning nap when Yuma sat down under the tree for the third time in a row that week. Summer was just beginning; the air wasn’t unbearably hot yet, Mari was getting ready to spend her days carefree, and Yuma was sat there, sketching out nothing in particular.

Lots of things he’d been doing lately had been nothing in particular. Art block was exceptionally prevalent in a town like this. He’d already run dry romanticizing all the little things about small-town life: knowing everybody, going to a store without a card reader, the whole town convening at one of the three restaurants around simply because it was that spot’s turn in the cycle… Picking flowers, walking barefoot along the shore, sitting under trees and drawing you’re supposed to be _drawing_ , Yuma, not lamenting, you’re supposed to be drawing so you can help Granny out this month instead of being some kind of freeloader last month didn’t go well Yuma you’re supposed to be drawing you’re supposed to be drawing—

The lead of his pencil snapped.

He began sharpening it again rather roughly. Last month’s manga pitch had gone a lot worse than he expected. After finishing his mother’s manga (regretfully so, as she passed the day it was published, and he never forgave himself), Yuma specialized in rather short, silly manga based off his life. And under his own name, too! That had gone rather well in high school, when he had experience to pull from every single day, but he graduated a year ago. Ever since laying that manga to rest, Yuma hadn’t had much luck with picking a new plot to follow.

And since money was tight, he _really_ needed something to go well. He had about four weeks until his next appointment with his editor, and she was getting more and more fed up with him with each bad idea he had. If she gave up on him, then Yuma would pretty much have to start over from scratch, and at that point, it’d be better to just get a boring normal job. Yuma didn’t want to be any more boring than he already felt he was.

He glanced down at his sketchbook, flipped open on his thighs to a drawing he was revisiting from high school. The original drawings were crammed onto a crumpled napkin from a fast food restaurant he visited one day on a field trip. It was paperclipped to the top of the page he was working on. So far, he only had a fullbody and a couple of headshots, but it was _much_ better than the small comics he tried to crank out on that little napkin.

Yuma wasn’t really sure where the idea of this guy came from—Yuma had never met anyone like him in his _life._ Back then, he called him Yanagi. Yuma made him mainly as a comic relief character. Yanagi was a womanizer from the city, stuck right in the middle of rural Japan because his parents wanted him to start taking things seriously. Had he made it into the final drafts, he would have been awfully bad at charming the country girls. It wasn’t that Yanagi was a bad flirt—he was perfectly fine at getting hearts racing—it was just that Yanagi wasn’t the type of guy country girls found interesting.

And considering that was a considerable amount of Yuma’s demographic, Yanagi never made it to the final cut. He’d been living in wrinkled napkins and margins of old notebooks for a very long time now, but maybe it was time for him to break out of there. After all, Yuma had a much broader demographic now. He’d finally made it into a magazine that reached much further than the one he’d been in before. It was part of the reason his editor had been so harsh to him lately: he had one chance to pitch to the magazine, and if he blew it, he _blew_ it.

Yuma dragged his pencil downwards, completing a long front strand of Yanagi’s hair. Yanagi would surely capture the hearts of city girls. He didn’t really have a story to go along with him yet, but Yuma hoped he could think of one within the next twenty-six days. Even if he had to draw a storyboard on the train to Tokyo, he’d at least have _something_ to tell his editor.

Yuma groaned, letting his head fall back against the tree. It was at times like these where he wished he was better at listening to the characters. He wished he could talk to them like his mother could. She always told him how, when she felt blocked, she’d press her ear to the paper and listen to where they felt they needed to go next. She said they’d whisper to her, gently pointing her in the right direction, and her block would slowly disappear into thin air.

...Well, Yuma had been holding Yanagi up to his ear for a full minute now, but he still couldn’t hear a word.

That afternoon, Yuma found himself by the shore.

That’s where Mari decided she wanted to hang out. She wanted to take her shoes off and find seashells in the sand, and Yuma had never been one to say no to her. Besides, maybe the sea would give him a little bit more inspiration than the field did.

He brought a blanket from home to lay out on the beach, and he sat down with his sketchbook and closed his eyes and listened for Yanagi. Maybe Yanagi was a surfer—his voice might be hidden in the crashing of the waves, a mere murmur amongst the fizz of bubbles, a whisper in each bit of sand that was kicked up. All Yuma needed was a spark, anyway. Yanagi didn’t need to tell him much. Just something that could get him started in the right direction.

All he could hear was Mari _ooh_ ing and _ahh_ ing at each shell she picked up. Every time her hands couldn’t carry much more, her giggles would come close, and the shells would ring as they fell against each other on the blanket. Occasionally, she would toss one out onto the ocean, and Yuma would hear the _plink_ of it falling in if the water was quiet enough.

Somehow, the sounds of her enjoying herself were making Yuma sad. It was like _she_ needed to be the reason for him to keep going, to make a manga popular enough that she wouldn’t have to worry too much about money later on, but the fact that Yuma _couldn’t_ find any inspiration even with that made him feel like he was letting her down. It wasn’t like she was too young to grasp such concepts, either. Yuma was pretty sure she knew full well by now that money was hard to come by, and it was at the forefront of nearly everyone’s minds at any given point in time.

He let out a rather rough sigh as he opened his eyes again. Yanagi was still on the page, silent as ever. Mari was close again now, peering at Yuma’s sketchbook. She let the shells fall from her hands as she knelt down near Yuma to get a better look.

She read his name slowly. “Ya-na-gi… He’s really handsome!” Mari said, placing a finger right on Yanagi’s chest. “He looks like a prince. What’s he gonna do?”

Yuma wanted to laugh. He wanted to say something like _you tell me._ Not like Mari would know, but any idea was better than no idea.

“He’s gonna flirt with lots of girls,” Yuma said, because that was really all he had for Yanagi, after all that thinking. “He’s gonna charm yer socks off! Not when I’m around, though…”

Mari nodded. “No one’s gonna flirt with me when yer around! But I wish he was real… He’s a _super_ handsome guy!”

While Yuma continued to sketch, she decided to begin sorting through the shells she collected. It was a process Yuma was rather familiar with: Granny didn’t want Mari hoarding too much stuff, so she was allowed to bring home five shells whenever she went to the beach. She had a rather interesting way of sorting them: she’d look at a shell for a few seconds and either toss it behind her or place it in a new pile. She kept going and going until there were only five left, and she’d put those in her pockets and add them to her collection.

Yuma’s sketching was interrupted by a shell being placed on the center of his page.

“This one’s fer you!” Mari said, smiling wide.

It finally made Yuma smile, too, and he placed the seashell neatly into a pocket of his bag. With a promise to return tomorrow, they headed off towards home before it got too late in the evening. It wasn’t dangerous to walk around at night at all; it was just better if they got home early enough in the evening to help with dinner.

He held Mari’s hand as they crossed the street, but he was preoccupied with thoughts of his manga. Where did Yanagi need to be? He was such a normal guy… What problems did guys like him face? Did he need to become an alien? Maybe he could add cat ears… Guys with animal ears were rather popular nowadays, weren’t they?

He looked up as they approached the house, and just down the street, where the field with the tree used to be, he saw a building about two stories high.

“Mari, can ya see that?” he asked, nodding towards the building. The tree was still there, but _everything_ else was different.

She looked up at him like he was crazy. “Yeah…? ‘S been there for a while. Are ya feelin’ okay?”

Yuma stared at it for a moment longer before shaking his head, reaching into his pocket for his key. “Yeah, yeah, I’m feelin’ okay…” he said, although he was becoming more and more sure this whole thing was just some sort of dream. “Remind me, Mari, who lives there?”

“Oh!” Mari smiled, bright in Yuma’s face. “Yanagi-kun lives there!”

Ah, right.

“...Yanagi-kun lives there?!”


	2. the aristocrat

**—26 Days Left**

Dream or not, Yuma was determined to visit Yanagi.

If it was just a dream, then Yuma would walk right up to Yanagi’s door, give it a few raps, and then let himself in so Yanagi could tell him all of his secrets. He’d be able to wake up with everything he had kept subconscious comfortably within reach, and figuring out the rest of his manga wouldn’t be the mountain it currently was.

If it wasn’t a dream, then Yuma had more problems than he knew how to deal with, and he’d rather cross that bridge when it came—if it ever did.

After letting Mari inside, Yuma set out to investigating exactly what that building was. In the absolute worst case scenario, it’d just be a normal apartment building that he’d never noticed before, and he’d speak with Granny about seeing some sort of specialist. He walked right up to it, peeking in through the glass door before going inside. It didn’t seem too out-of-the-ordinary; aside from the whole “appearing out of thin air” thing, it seemed like a normal apartment building. Through the glass, he saw the lobby, and he saw a row of doors, and he saw the stairs at the very end, leading up to a second floor that probably looked exactly the same, if not very similar.

He stepped through. It didn’t smell weird, and it didn’t feel like a place where the fabric of reality wrinkled. Yuma walked down to the very end of the hall. It was completely quiet as he passed each door, save for the sound of each step he took. He was beginning to wonder if anyone even lived here—it’d be less of a surprise if it was completely empty, and he just hadn’t noticed the construction.

Yuma stopped in front of the stairs, but he still heard footsteps. His heart started racing, and he took some steps backwards, and he tried his best to act as normal as possible so whoever coming down these steps wouldn’t think he was some sort of suspicious character, but the sound slowed to a stop, and Yuma looked up.

Right in front of the staircase, in all of his mysterious glory, stood Yanagi, a hand on his hip and an easy smile on his face.

“Hey, there,” he said. “I’m about as lost as you are.”

“Yanagi…” Yuma said, the name somehow feeling foreign on his lips. “Am I dreamin’?”

Yanagi laughed, and it sounded like the sea breeze Yuma was so very fond of, and it was just like Yuma always imagined it being. “No. You’re not dreaming at all.”

Yuma didn’t know what to say. His mind was filled was everything and nothing at all all at once. His body moved without his permission, and he stepped closer to Yanagi. Yanagi smelled like wealth, like cologne Yuma couldn’t pronounce the name of and like smog and like new clothes. He was a bit taller than Yuma imagined he would be, and his clothes fell a little differently on his frame than they did on paper, and Yuma took a few steps back when realized he was standing much too close.

“Yer real,” Yuma said, and he was suddenly very aware of his dialect. He shook his head, trying to shake himself back into a dialect Yanagi would have a bit of an easier time understanding. “Why?”

Yanagi tilted his head. “You’re going to draw me into this world and then ask _me_ why I exist? You’re a funny boy.”

“I…” Yuma blinked a few times, attempting to think through this new information. “I _drew_ you into this world?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“I have time.”

Yanagi’s apartment was on the top floor at the very end of the hallway. Making small talk with him was such a strange experience. Yuma felt like he’d known Yanagi for much longer than about twenty minutes, but at the same time, they hardly knew each other at all.

The couch Yanagi directed Yuma to sit on was much fancier than any Yuma had ever seen before—both because the people here didn’t really have couches and because the people here didn’t really have riches. Yanagi’s air conditioning was also _really_ strong, and the whole place smelled like vanilla, and there were high ceilings and large windows and all that other fancy stuff Yuma had never seen in this part of Japan.

Yuma had his sketchbook open on his lap as Yanagi sat down next to him. He was almost done with a rough sketch of the room.

“You’ve never drawn this place before?” Yanagi asked. “I see.”

“Is it different over there?” Yuma asked, because at the very least, he could gather that Yanagi came from ‘there,’ and that ‘there’ was much different than ‘here.’ 

“No, it’s the same,” Yanagi said, and that was the most baffling answer Yuma could have received. “Yuma, how much do you know about me?”

Yuma stared at his sketch for a moment longer before flipping to a new page. “Not that much. I know you’re about my age, you drink a lot of milk, you’re from the city, and you flirt with lots of girls.”

Yanagi hummed. “Well, that’s more than I thought you’d know.”

They were quiet for a moment, Yuma staring at his paper while he felt Yanagi’s eyes on him. He chewed on his lip. His hand started drawing out the milk bottle sitting on the coffee table, but his mind was a million miles away. He was beginning to wonder if he should move or say something or look to his right to make sure Yanagi was still _there_ when Yanagi spoke up again.

“I’m not really sure how I got here.” Yanagi leaned back, sinking into the couch cushions. “One moment, I was there, killing time before a date, and the next, I was here. Just like that. Any idea?”

Yuma shook his head. “This building wasn’t here when I left home this morning. I’d never seen it before in my life.”

“Well, I think you know more than you think you do,” Yanagi said, “considering that bottle wasn’t there before you started drawing it.”

Yuma paused. Now that he thought about it, the label on that bottle didn’t even look like a real brand. It certainly wasn’t like anything Yuma had ever actually seen, but... he could have _sworn_ he was using it as a reference. Or did he start drawing it first?

“Do you get it now?” Yanagi sat forward again. He set his hand on Yuma’s arm—it felt warm, and his skin was so soft, and Yuma realized in that moment that he hadn’t been touched so delicately in a very long time. “I think you’ve done this.”

“Me? How could I have…” Yuma glanced down at his page. If he really _had_ drawn the milk bottle into existence, then surely he could do it again.

He looked at the milk bottle one more time to confirm every single detail. There was only one bottle on the coffee table, and it was short, fat, and had a light blue label on it with a pink cow. He began drawing another one. This one was slimmer, a little taller, and had a simple cow stamp near the opening. He filled it all the way to the top and gave it a cap, and when he looked up, it was sitting right next to the first one.

“It looks like the milk my family sells,” Yanagi said. “How could you have known that?”

Yuma wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer that question or not. Technically, he should know everything there was to know about Yanagi, but at the same time, Yanagi seemed like too much of his own person to merely be Yuma’s creation. He spoke like he had a whole life There that Yuma knew absolutely nothing about.

Which meant that it’d be cruel to keep Yanagi Here for any longer than he had to. It would be best to get Yanagi back There as soon as possible. But how could he do that? What was the opposite of drawing?

“Maybe if I erase it,” Yuma said, “it’ll go away.”

So he erased the first milk bottle he drew, and when he looked up, it still sat on the table.

“It was a good idea,” Yanagi said.

For a while, it was quiet. Yuma continued to draw—mainly smaller things that would fit on the coffee table. Even if he erased the smaller things, they still remained Here. He even tried flipping to a different page, too, and recreating the far corner of the room to draw things in. And things continued to appear as he drew them and refused to disappear as he erased them, even all the way in the corner. He even tried ripping up one of the pages of his sketchbook, just to see if the paper needed to be physically destroyed for the objects to go back There, but nothing worked.

“I’m sorry, Yanagi.” Yuma closed his sketchbook. “I have no idea how to get you back home.”

Yanagi smiled, bright and charming. It must have been the smile he usually used on girls back There; Yuma was almost blushing. “Don’t worry too hard, okay? I can make do right Here until we figure it out.”

Yuma nodded. “Right. We’ll figure it out.”

That night, things just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Both Mari _and_ Granny had asked about Yanagi at dinner, saying something or other about how they hadn’t seen him in a little while and had been wondering how he was doing. Yuma bluffed as well as he could, but he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around how it felt like the whole universe had changed. Maybe it had. Or maybe Yuma really was dreaming.

No, that was ridiculous. It felt too real to be a dream.

Yuma started looking through his phone once he got back up to his room. He’d only gotten it recently, and only really to keep in contact with his editor. He wasn’t that good at working it still, but he managed to navigate his contacts to see if anything had changed.

Yuma’s phone only had four contacts, but Yanagi somehow made it five.

He checked his photos next. Most of the pictures were of things he’d seen and needed to remember, but mixed amongst all of those things now were pictures of him and Yanagi. Yuma had the vaguest recollection of some of the pictures. He’d actually been to most of those places, but he was always alone, and he didn’t really take pictures of himself. But they were all very much real, and Yuma… Yuma looked happy in so many of the pictures.

Even if it was most definitely fake—well, fake in a real sort of way—it was still strange to see himself smiling so wide. Yuma didn’t consider himself to be a sad person, but he didn’t smile very much. The one picture in particular he couldn’t stop looking at was of him and Yanagi sometime in the summer. They were both smiling, and Yanagi was looking at Yuma rather than at the camera, and there was a brilliant view of the stars behind them.

He didn’t mean to, but he spent the whole night recreating it on paper. It was one of the first things he’d drawn that day that didn’t immediately manifest in front of him, which was more disappointing than he thought it would be, and he drew it again and again and again until he could almost recreate it perfectly.

Somehow, he could never get the stars right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading the first two chapters!!!! hopefully i'll get the rest uploaded in a timely manner ^__^

**Author's Note:**

> here is my [twitter](https://twitter.com/mezzosaka) if you want to chat!!! ^__^


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